S BUBAL 
A, TO ?! 
JlVdi £ r ji'£ trembling of those trembling*lingers 1 
ty^^r? €k beating of your heart. You begin to f< 
fortable, thinking there must be some 
ri "My■ '■ '*' "T deceptive in the pleasant words that 
Si 1 addressed to you, while that aged one, 
ulrv V YjJ-J '. ) v'.Il'J' 1 * much more entitled to them, has had 
were by that rude address, but the increased LARVA, 
trembling of those trembling* fingers hurried the [Under this title the JiiZTie Monthly recently gave its 
beating of your heart You begin to feel uncom- readers one of the prettiest and most suggestive poems j 
fortable, thinking there must be something very we have seen for many a day. What a truth is suggested 
deceptive in the pleasant words that are being ir ' ite lin, ' s * ,Iow many things there are in this world 
addressed to you, while that aged one, who is so tha * we, in childish ignorance, call deformity and ugliness. 
EXTRAVAGANCE OF THE AGE. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MEMORIES. 
B V i! Y K T A MAT 
Sad are the echoes the wild winds wake 
In my weary, unquiet breast, 
A wail for the loved of long ago 
Who hare gone to their dreamless rest. 
Sad are the memories the wild winds bring, 
And my spirit grows faint and cold, 
As 1 hear the sweep of the tempest’s wing. 
And remember the days of old. 
much more entitled to them, has had her long 
hours of silent neglect broken only by the disre¬ 
spectful, irritating tones of the fault-lindcr. All 
those prettily-worded, nicely - toned, compli¬ 
mentary speeches now, uro to you, indued, as the 
golden apples of the'Hod Sea, While those apples 
of Sodom roll out unchecked, you watch the 
grandmother. “ Granny is forever making some 
miss," and that sacrilegious hand is raised to 
push the grandmother away. Your very blood is 
chilled, and well it may be, for if God ho sum¬ 
marily punished the presumption that raised 
which are but the initials of a nobler growth. AVe see 
only the caterpillar,—let us wait, and future days shall 
develop the butterfly,] 
Mv little maiden of four years old, 
(No myth, but a genuine child is she, 
With her bronze-brown eyes and her curls of gold,) 
Came, quite in disgust, one day to me. 
Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm,— 
Ab the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her. 
She cried— i: 0, mother, I found on my arm 
A horrible, crawling caterpillar!" 
And with mischievous smile she scarce could smother. 
A shrewd writer who is in the habit of telling 
home truths which go direct to the heart of the 
popular follies of the day, has the following in 
relation to the pernicious system system of 
domestic education, .so fatally prevalent at the 
present time: 
. . . % 
mm 
fT# 
^ <o 
The long-ago. when Youth’s morning light, 
Like a glory, was on my brow, 
When all the future, with Hope was bright. 
Oh, where are those visions now? 
rr““ J , i—mpuuu WHH raised Yet a glance, in ite daring, l,alf-awed and shy; 
UzZA1,B Land to tho bacred ark, you may be She a<I<le<3-“ While they were about it, mother, 
sure lie will not let go unvisited the hand that is I wish they'd just finished the butterfly!” 
!!5?J.",h^.r* 0 L W ‘ TT Zliey were wordflto tbe thodgbtvf tbfl uni that turns 
' th * rall, ' r »“* 1 | b >' t« !'C«rt From the cum. tem of . pM, 
sickens, and now pants tar more eagerly to escape Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns 
Gone, like the flowers when summer is o'er, 
When winter's breath is nigh, 
Flown, like birds to a far oIT shore 
To sing ’neath a sunnier sky. 
When the spring-time comes with her balmy breath 
The earth will grow bright flowers, 
The birds will come from their wanderings 
To sing in tho wood-land bowers; 
through the open window, than it did this after¬ 
noon, standing by tho door, to be wafted in with 
tho window-drapery. The sun is going down, 
and you feci quite ready to take your leave, your 
visit concluded, but await the climax if you do 
not think it already reached in the scene passed. 
Little JoiixNY comes in, tired of romping with 
Carlo, and wants the little stool to sit on,—the 
Mi til an Unknown glory to crown them both. 
stool “granny" occupies, and Johnny's lather 
Sad are the memories the wil<l-winds bring, 
My tears full like autumn rain, 
lor I know the hopes of /life's early spring 
Will never come hack again. 
Homer, N Y„ 1860. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE GRANDMOTHER. 
tells “granny” to get up and let him have it,— 
that it is time for her to be oiT to bed, now that 
the sun is down. 
The infatuated, Infuriated mob who cried “Ilis 
blood bo on us and our children,” are very Jar 
from being extinct at this day, for we see parents 
who not only make haste unto Wickedness them¬ 
selves, but are also eagerly conferring it on their 
children, by example if not by precept. “Granny” 
gets up, opens a low door in the earner, and witli 
Ah! look thou largely with lenient eyes, 
On what so beside thee may creep and cling; 
For the possible beauty that underlies 
The passing phase of the meanest thing. 
What if God’s great angels, whose waiting love, 
Beholdeth our pitiful life below, 
From the holy height of the heaven above, 
Couldn’t bear with the worm till the wings should grow 1 
\ 
.* MW* *** GUI uu. UIJU Will! 
I spoil, ail afternoon with me at our her palsied limbs crawls up stairs to her garret! 
. ) ne.ii noigi ior s across the way, in that while her robust son and his wife, with their 
p eas.m - ooving itto domicil, which, for neat- healthy, rosy-checked boy, and two strong, grown 
ness and comfort, within and without, is but the , )n daughters have their c.nnifr.rtai.fo bed.™™. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
JOURNALIZING. 
counterpart of scores of others that deck our 
goodly land,—its prettily arranged flower beds 
and intenviniug walks in front, and well stocked 
fruit and vegetable garden in the. rear, all sur¬ 
rounded by a low white, fence. You see no loose 
pickets, no gates ajar, as you approach, no weeds 
among the (lowers, no pigs or poultry in tho 
garden, no anything where it ought not to be,, 
betokening a slack hand at the helm of affairs. No 
mud hangs from the door-scraper, no dust finds 
repose on the well-shaken mat, and you involun¬ 
tarily inspect your lingers ero you grasp the 
polished door-handle, while tho coquettish flutter 
of the snowy-like curtains before the half-open 
shutter, almost draws your heart in with it. Will 
tho inner court of this sanctuary of cleanliness 
up daughters have their comfortable bed-rooms 
on the first floor. 
There are probably few persons, young or old, 
In the town of .Somewhere lives Mr. Many girl?. 
He is a toilsome merchant, his wife a hard-work¬ 
ing housekeeper. Once they were poor, now they 
arc ruinously rich. They have seven daughters, 
whom they train up in utter idleness. They 
spend much money, bat not in works of human¬ 
ity, not even in elegant accomplishments, in 
painting, dancing, music, and the like, and so 
paying in spiritual beauty what they take in 
material means. They never read nor sing; they 
are know-nothings, and, only in vain show, as 
useless as a ghost, ami as ignorant as the blocks 
on which their bonnets are made. Now; these 
seven ‘ladies,’ as the newspapers call the poor 
things, so ignorant and helpless, aro not only 
idle, can earn nothing, but consume much. What 
a load of finery is on their shoulders, and heads, 
and necks! Mr. Manygirls hires many men and 
women to wait on his daughters’ idleness, and 
I these servants arc withdrawn from productive 
work in nursing these soveu grown up babies. 
On the other side of the way, the Hon. Mr. 
Manysona has seven sons, who are the exact 
match for the merchant’s daughters; rich, idle, 
some of them dissolute; debauchery coming 
before their beard; all useless, earning nothing, 
spending much, wasting more. Their only labor is 
to kill time; and in summer they emigrate from 
pond to pond, from lake to lake, having a fishing 
line with a worm atone end and a fool at the other. 
These are fast families in Somewhere. Their 
idleness is counted pleasure. Six of these sons 
will marry, and five perhaps of Manygirl's daugh¬ 
ters, and what families they will found to live on 
the toil of their grandfather’s bones, till a com¬ 
mercial crisis, and the wear and tear of time has 
dissipated their fortunes, and they are forced 
reluctantly to toil. 
[W ritten for .Moore'- Rural New-Yorker.] 
‘THE MORNING- COMETH.” 
Lo! the sun goes down in darkness 
And no halo gilds the west, 
A et we mourn not through the night-time 
Where the sunbeams went to rest; 
Nor through all the gloomy night-hours 
Do we sadly wait and pray, 
Rut we calmly rest, believing 
In the east shall rive the day. 
Bat, behold! when any life-light, 
From our world goes down - in gloom, 
We are clothed about with sack-cloth, 
And sit wailing by the tomb; 
With no hope iu future blessing,— 
With no joy in present cheer,— 
We look not up and eastward, 
But think only “ they were here; 
They were, but arc no longer” \,-u* 
And the wail is thus fax true, 
If you seek them here forever 
They will never come to you; 
But look with Faith—not graveward, 
Not the dreary way they've gone_ 
Far beyond you and above you 
Shall you sec the Coming dawn. 
Not alone the olden beauty 
Shall your ardent eyes behold, 
But renewed and wreathed in glory 
With a wealth of peace untold; 
A on shall hail the resurrection f * 
Of all holy hopes and true, 
And no good you o’er have cherished 
Shall be henceforth dead to you. 
Hastings, Jf. Y., 1860. ' Roskua. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE NEW YEAR. 
~ „ wll ° W0lljd not be benefited in one way or an- 
Reader, is this your grandmother? God forbid „n, 0 .„ ,, . * y 
„ , mu > other—many of them m more ways than one — 
and yet it ts no fancy scene, and it would be well 1|V wo™ ’ .. “ ° nC 
to see that no pari of it lies within our own doors. 
Happily, if you have the care of a grandmother, i 
trust your own mind reverts to a placid face, 
serenely fair, though wrinkled by time, Bur- 
rouuded by the faultless frill, upon which, and 
by keeping a journal. The demand such a prac¬ 
tice makes on one’s time is very trilling, and, if 
rightly conducted, the advantages to bo gained 
from it are very great. The profit, of course, 
would not be alike in all cases; depending, in 
some measure, on the ago and capabilities of the 
the sioooUily-brushcd silvery locks, florae gentle journal^, and, still more, on th 7b ^ 
fingers daily and proudly exercise their skill, to bc accomplished and the consequent plan on 
thinking or fearing none others would or could which it. is nmisza.1,.,, n.. „ J. 
““ 1Ue,t 7 S “ or food. Another year 1,«» run it, coow-another link 
fuel,, loth],iof ejerj thing. Wo Hic tho least ho, been added to the groat chain of eternity- 
economical c.Uted people on earth. Of con,« and another warninghaa been given „ to prepare 
the poor are iruuinl evcnvljcre. the, do not onmlvca for a better world, 'hot „ count the 
know how to economize and the, hare not the moment. In retro.pect-l.ow Beet ha, been their 
, jf.T? 1 r ' om , 1 '“ J <® r ““ l| b count* how fall of hope end bepplnent mi.er, 
reneheeVh. "m ? t ,“t ' ok* ho. p.otiU™. How rnanj 
... “ " !'. fc "’ i ! k< ” ri “’ “ ro Ule S'* the event, that have token piece wherein hone. 
correspond with the outer? Ves, and were it not * u •> our mc uus, ana the last oip 
for those conveniently disposed mats you would W0Uld th!uk of allowia S to 8uffer '*“? inc01 
lie afraid to enter the kitchen lest your feet should < ' nct ‘ ,—m ,mc ' to the revorcd ^ Whoir 
dim the pure whiteness of the smallest snot of • vour rov .T d mothor d ‘- d ‘-^nce. 
that iiiimaenlately Hen-scoured floor, that looks a " We Wi,!l 4111 our weal(l1 * ^'aniing, wit, or 
all the whiter from < ontrast with the polished k-t , ir WC p0BRCRa ,,ot thc ,ovo 1,1111 is 
do it neatly enough, to her who is first placed at 
the table, first served, and upon whom all hands 
aro officious to wait; who occupies the cosiest 
scat by the parlor lire,—the first to whom you 
introduce your friends, and tho last one you 
would think of allowing to suffer any inconveni¬ 
ence,—in fine, to the revered being to whom even 
your revered mothor pilyetli deference. What 
are we with all our wealth, learning, wit, or other 
worth, if we possess not the love that is over 
.. , T ,iu me ponanea jet .. , . , magnAm*:, in iiuwxp:iper read, an account of the 
of tho cooking-stove; and if you arc even so much h ndness toward our fellow-beings,- maimn , lnAke accomplished and a recital of the 
journal!***, and, still more, on the object proposed waatcf « 1 ' vll <> liave inherited money, almost never have been blasted and warning given and how 
to be accomplished and the consequent plan on such who Lave earned it. The great mass of the many have gone to that bourne from whence no 
winch it is undertaken, and the zeal and perse- People are not economical, but wasteful. It is the traveler returns. Hay after day has passed as a 
vcrance wherewith it is carried out. hnbit of the count U- shadow, and wo remain-storm afte, storm has 
1’ or young persons wishing to make a beginning ^- swept thc world, and wc arc still unscathed—but 
literary composition there is, perhaps, no easier Tun Wind is a Musician.— Extend a silken what better are we than living monuments of sin 
nor better way to meet the awkwardness of a first thread in the crevice of a window, and the wind and perfidy—thousands from around us have been 
attempt at talking, on paper than to commence (ills it and flings over it, aud goes np and down summoned to thc last great reckoning, and we 
with a simple fom of journal. A daily statement the scale upon it, and, like Paganini, performs on have been allowed time and opportunity of which 
oi the weather—whether warm or cold, wet or a single thread. It tries almost everything on we take not any heed. We still pursue the world’s 
dry, oahu or windy, clear or cloudy, if possible a earth to see if there is music in it. It persuades wide-beaten track, still lust after its vanities and 
brief abstract ol the K .;v. learned, or the book, a tone out of the great bell in the tower when the pleasures, nor stop to consider how melancholy a 
magazine, or newspaper read, an account of the sexton is asleep; It makes a mournful harp of tho thing it is to “take no note of time hut h. it a 
as moderately good-looking, that array of glitter¬ 
ing tins, brass and copper articles will lie sure to 
elicit your admiration. Ton see that the spectre, 
poverty, is as great a stranger to this dwelling as 
disorder and filth, for see that long array of the 
whitest, lightest, sweetest loaves you ever looked 
upon, just out of the oven, along with a host of 
epicurean dainties. 
Como, now, you must accept that urgent invi¬ 
tation to lay aside your bonnet and stay for tea. 
It is served up in that dear little bird’s-nest of a 
parlor, so simple and perfect in its arrangements. 
Yon are hardly seated at the table, before little, 
curly-headed Johnny comes rattling in from 
school. lie wants some pie, of course, and is told 
pie is not good for little boys, to go lo the 
kitchen and cut his bowl of bread and milk with 
grandmother. “Grandmother!” you mentally 
exclaim. “ 1 have seen nothing of one. Is there 
a grandmother in this house?” Yes. Did you 
notice nothing imperfect in all the display of 
order and neatness in that kitchen? Did you not 
see something on a stool behind the stove very 
like a bundle of old clothes? You did. Very 
well, tea is over, and as you are no stranger, wo 
will leave thc parlor, take our needle-work aud 
sit in the kitchen while the mother and her two 
tidy, active daughters, models of neatness and 
industry for the neighborhood, perform their 
several duties. 
Two great, comfortable casy-ehairs are drawn 
forward for us, with their soft cushions and their 
broad, lazy arms, almost tempting you to go to 
sleep. You are completely astonished at the 
amount and quality of house-keeping tact that 
mother and daughters display at every turn, 
while the good sense, intelligence and ready wit 1 
of their conversation would quite fascinate you, ' 
were not your attention divided, ono-half fixed 1 
upon the aforementioned bundle of clothes, or so 1 
ranch of it as the stove does not hide from view. ^ 
How much you would like to take a peep around ? 
the stove just to satisfy your curiosity—to see if it • 
actually be a real, live grandmother, aud you are 11 
just upon the point of moving your chair a little a 
towards the window, when a ball of yarn comes 
rolling to your feet. Lucky, isn't it? You 
the charity that, though it endeth not there, 
surely heginnetl) at home? Skeletons, decked 
Brantford, C. W., 1860. 
STYLES OF WOMEN. 
An English lady, Mrs. Murray, has been voyag¬ 
ing among the Spanish Islands, and has written a 
book descriptive of the women she meets —par¬ 
ticularly at Santa-Cruz, the capital of Tcneriffe. 
It is cleverly reviewed by an English critic, and 
we quote a passage: 
;. ' i w ’ JUl w prcai neu m inc tower when the pleasures, nor stop to consider how melancholy a 
magazine, or newspaper read, an account of the S'-xtou is asleep; il, makes a mournful harp of the thiup, it is to “ take no note of time but by its 
manual tasks accomplished and a recital of the favext pines, and it tries to see what sort of a loss,” or to think that there is n dread'hereafter. 
Skeletons ilrrl-o i I var | ous liUle iru:idents Ml up the day, with, whistle can bo made of the humblest chimney in from the path of wisdom and virtue like the 
.1 A.... I l" ;1 'l |a l> M i a fcw reflections oa passing events— the world. How it will play upon a great tree till SChool-boy by the bntterfiy that crosses bis track, 
these may be noted down with far more ease and every leaf thrills with the note in it, and winds ro hy ihe tinsel glare and glitter of this perisha- 
quitc as much profit us usually attend the prepa- 11 P H' 0 river that rnns ut its base, for a sort of bio world, yve are more bent on tho procuring of 
rations of first exorcises in composition. murmuring accompaniment. What a melody it present than future happiness, always forgetful 
Those who have gained such skill in writing as siligs wbcI111 £ ivf-s a concert with a full choir of that tho wages of sin is death. Year follows year 
to render them independent of this practice will, t,1<? waves ot 1,IC sea, and performs an aotliem he- unheeded and unproliled, and at length, when the 
yet find great advantage in keeping what may ho twCcn tlic two worlds, and goes up, perhaps, to moment of departure arrives, we find too late that 
termed a thought-diary. As a means of improve- tlu ’ 8tars t,iat lovc music most and sang it first.— th® lamps of dissipation have guided us to a fear- 
incut in thinking, or as a stimulant to thought, Tl,cu how fond| y it haunts the old houses, moan- M quicksand; no straw to grasp at, we sink into 
quite as ranch profit as usually attend the prepa¬ 
rations of first exorcises in composition. 
Those who have gained sucli skill in writing as 
few exercises are more to bo commended than a 
habit of daily noting down some one or more 
ideas or sentiments, chosen on account of the im- 
jmi . ' , . . , portanco of thc sublect to which they relate or 
“They are pretty portraits which Mrs. Murray has . ‘1, ’ 
givep us; batons bright, imn-c EnglishnoDUm.Sth bec »'^/ h *Z»rEo, t, to tl» g c „e«l 
h.r.nzrff. m,l 1... i ' _run of Hie wr itor^R''Uecbon* or, periup* tor some 
ing under the eaves, singing in the halls, opening oblivion; no staff to lean on, wc yield ourselves a 
old doors without fingers, and sighing a measure prey to despondency, and tumble headlong into 
of some sad old song around the tireless and de- the abyss, on the verge of which we passed our 
sertedhearth. worthless lives. 
her energy and her courage, her self-reliance and 
her honor, is worth the whole bevy. The marble 
skin aud languid lovediness of the harem beitutv, 
her glorious eyes, her matchless hair, her bewitch¬ 
ing mouth, make her very effective as a portrait; 
so is the Spanish woman, with her natural flowers 
braided into her magnificent Hair, and her dark 
eyes speaking so cloq ucntly from under her arched 
brows. Let the palm of beauty pass; let the fair- 
halved English girl look pale and expressionless 
beside thefle glowing beauties; but at home, who 
but she bears off the prize before all women of the 
world? Who so neat, so l^urly well-appointed, 
so regular in her habits, so charming in her man¬ 
agement?—who so sweet a home Companion, so 
reliable, so truthful, so matelike, as she? Not the 
Moorish maiden, ignorant and to be protected by 
because they are of superior quality to the general-- : - Let us view the face of nature as the year ap- 
run of the writer’s reflections, or, perhaps, for some Living Fast.— This phrase is applied frequently P roact,es 10 its end —how typical is it of the 
worth they possess in the way of hint or sugges- to certain young men who are following a fashion- grav0 * The l )rond fore8t tree - despoiled of their 
tion of newness, if they have not the merit of do- able course of life, attended wiih more or Jess dis- ful ’ a "' : ‘* atld the loud torrent stayed in its course, 
cided originality. The effort to speak, each day, sipation and extravagance. But with great pro- are 1,1 emblems of the fall of man. The new year 
some word so raised above the ordinary thought prioty this term may be applied to all those who advancoa —nature assumes again her smiles and 
of the individual, as to entitle it to preservation, are hurrying through life—overworking the brain vcrdure mankind hail her advent, and bend the 
naturally leads the mind to dwell much on exalted and giving but little rest to their bodies or minds. * llJte ia 1,l!i nkiul adoration of Him whose hand- 
themes, while the practice of saying but little on Carlyle very truly remarks that “ the race of life maidens the seasons are. Does not the year just 
each occasion is favorable to the cultivation of a lia3 become intense; woe be to him who stops to £ oue teom ^^h countless examples, but have we 
habit in the writer of giving utterance to the very tie bis shoestrings.” What a fearful amount of l ,rolited by them?—have we taken advantage of 
best thought of which he is capable on any subject. “ wear and tear " to the nervous system is there in tbo lessom5 which have opened to our view?— 
The plan of keeping a journal of thoughts as every department of life! What a continual strife TlirjU gh we have wept over the graves of numbers 
they occur, has another advantage which should 13 there in every community for wealth—for dis- of de P arted friends—have stood with bursting 
not be overlooked. In thc preparation of set tinction and pleasure! How much disappointment hearts at tbe toml) of a dear parent, sister or 
articles, even after careful consideration of the aud envy may be found rankling in the breast of brother, or idolized, darling child—though we 
subjects to bc treated, many things relating to the many persons! Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, used to ma ^ have been struck by thc chill hand of deso- 
theme of discourse which have from time to time sa Y “ it m not work that injures a man; it is vex- ,ation ’ ,iave w e fitted ourselves to become inherit- 
presented themselves to the writer’s mind, and ation that does it,” it is this “fast living” in our ors of that kingdom where only is rest for the 
which would go far toward enriching iris eotnpo- country which produces so many of the ills that wea! 7 afld heavy laden? How many of us must 
ation, aro apt not to be remembered; and, so, arc is heir to—it undermines the constitution— 8a Y no ? T be sorrow of thc moment lifts passed, 
of no avail for the purpose in hand. Chance breaks down the nervous system—produces arc- and though, for the time, we were not to be com¬ 
parts, we would rather pay our homage to such 
women as wo see painted in the Academy, in 
scarlet petticoats, Balmoral boots, turned hats, 
aud gauntlet-gloves, with that fearless look of 
honesty and daring which only exists where there 
is freedom, self-respect, and social esteem, than to 
all the lights of the harem.” 
A Beautiful Sentiment— The following beau- 
snatch it up, take it back iu the direction whence 1l ,ld verse conveys a sentiment which many of our 
it came, and you are satisfied now, 1 trust. The reade, ' a recognize in a feeling they have no 
withered, parchment-colored face, and sunken 
eyes, that are not so much as lifted to yours as 
the bowed head bows a little lower in acknowlge- 
ment of your trifling service, and the trembling 
hands that so slowly move the needles, belong to 
no other, surely, than that time-honored being 
you have been taught to reverence—a grand¬ 
mother. If yon donbt still, it is not long, for a 
petulant voice calls oat, “ I do wish, granny, you 
would leave the knitting-work alone, for you drop 
two stitches for every one you Imis. The tremb- I 
doubt experienced, hut never known how so 
touchingly to express: 
“ 0, never breathe a lost oue’s name 
M hen those who loved that name are nigh; 
It pours a lava through the frame 
Tlint chokes the breast and fills the eye: 
It strains a chord that yields too much 
Of piercing anguish iu its breath, 
And Lauds of mercy should not touch 
A string made eloquent by death!" 
which enter the mind unsought aud at times when 
they are not wanted for any present use of literary 
composition — are often of more value—are more 
fresh and original —than what the writer pro¬ 
duces when he sets himself to thinking upon the 
same subjects. But as those thoughts come unex¬ 
pectedly, so they are apt to take leave without 
giving notice, and it is difficult to^recall them: 
therefore, we propose the plan of laying them by 
in a hook kept for the purpose. After a few weeks 
or months, the keeper of such a diary will be sur¬ 
prised on looking over liis little hook, to find 
what an accumulation of thoughts and opinions it 
contains, and, if lie undertakes to write out at 
length his impressions on every subject that lias 
considerably occupied his mind, he will be both 
surprised and pleased to find how much help this 
thought-diary will afford him. a. 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1S60. 
rornxG cokx. 
We were popping corn, 
Sweet Kitty and I; 
It danced about, 
Aud it danced up high. 
The embers were hot, 
In their flery light; 
And it went up brown, 
And it came down white. 
White and beantifnl. 
Crimped and curled, 
The prettiest fairy dance in the world! 
The embers were hot, 
In their fiery light; 
And it went up brown, 
Aud it came down white. 
Ah, many a time are the embers hot, 
And the human spirit can brook it not. 
Yet radiant, forth from the fiery light, 
Comoth transformed and enrobed iu white. 
two stiicncs lor every one you inns. I lie tremb- One’s happiness depends greatly upon the feel¬ 
ing fingers shake still more, and presently the ingsthat govern his heart. If sunshine is there 
knitting is rolled up aud laid at her side. You it will radiate out and make everything in the 
could not tell from any change of expression in external world beautiful, or, at lcast/it will give to I 
the face half hid by the dingy, slouchy cap- surrounding objects a' bright side that may be 
border, how much disturbed the heart’s depths contemplated with pleasure. I 
Cheerfulness is the best promoter of health; Time wears slippers of list, and his tread is and happiness, 
repining? and murmurings o! the heart give im- noiseless. The days come softly dawning, one Oh 1 reader, ponder on these truths: choose the 
perceptible strokes to those delicate fibres of after another; they creep in at the windows-their narrow l )at1 * toatleadeth to eternal life; cast be- 
the machine. (.htcrfulness Is as friendly to the pant for it; their music is sweet to the ears that good tight, for lie that hath said, “Come unto me 
mind as to the body. It banishes all anxious c-are listen to it; until, before we know it, a whole life aP - ye that labor and are heavy laden,” is now 
and discontent; soothes and composes the pas- of days has possession of the citadel and time In? 'y aitin S to conduct his chosen ones in safety 
sions, and keeps the soul in perpetual calm. taken us for its own. ’ ^Port^iopefc!^waseo the shadow ° f dearth. ^ 
forted, feeling alone in a world where, to our 
jaundiced eyes, all before seemed beautiful and 
gay, yet, like Pharaoh, our hearts have again 
hardened, tho tear is dried up, and new friendships 
have been formed. 
Like the new year, youth begins his glad and 
joyous course, his spirit is uncontrollable—mark 
well his daring and high ambition—loving and 
beloved, his soul aspires to the greatness of this 
earth. Look at him again; the hand of death is 
upon him. Alas, poor worm! how fleeting have 
been thy triumphs, how short-lived thy* arrogance. 
The funeral procession has retired, the green grass 
waves over the grave of him departed, and the 
chill and iev fang of loneliness has twined itself 
around the'hearts of those that are left. No new 
year beams iu the distance, nor dare we cherish a 
hope of a life beyond the grave. It has been suid 
that the end of death is the beginning of life, and 
revelation attests the truth thereof. Jesus, the 
Savior of thc world, proclaims that for those 
who follow righteousness a new year shall come, 
and peace and gladness; and the’ stillness of the 
grave be broken in upon by a spring-time of joy 
aud happiness. 
Oh! reader, ponder on these truths: choose the 
narrow path that leadeth to eternal lift; cast be¬ 
hind thee the soul-destroying pleasures and hol¬ 
low vanities of this perishing world; fight the 
good tight, for lie that hath said, “Gome unto me 
m 
